


Care

by AuroraNova



Series: The Vadari Chronicles [14]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: M/M, New Relationship, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 12:49:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20097484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraNova/pseuds/AuroraNova
Summary: "I won’t lose you.”Alien foodstuffs can be dangerous. Fortunately, Garak has an excellent doctor.





	Care

**Author's Note:**

> I'm doing something different for this installment: giving Garak's POV.

Exile is not as intolerable the second time.

Garak still yearns for his homeworld, of course. He imagines he always will. There is part of him reserved only for Cardassia which will forever mourn being wrenched away. Time does not heal all wounds, as much as humans might like to think that is the case.

However, his absence serves Cardassia. When Tain exiled Garak it was a punishment for daring to doubt him. (Time may not heal, but it has proven Garak’s concerns to be correct. If Cardassia hadn’t been nearly destroyed, he might have enjoyed that.) Now he is not, officially, an exile, and were it only his own life at risk, Garak would have remained and taken his chances.

He will not take chances with Cardassia’s future. It is quite fragile enough already.

So he removed himself, and takes great solace in knowing that he still acts for the good of Cardassia, even if few others appreciate what he has done. There are undoubtedly people who saw a frightened man fleeing to safety and a life of ease in the Federation, not a man sacrificing his dearest wish in order to remove one element of chaos troubling his world.

Julian understood immediately. He, of course, is the other reason Garak finds his second exile less hateful.

Garak has known for years that Julian is fonder of him than was wise for a Starfleet officer by a considerable margin. He also knew himself to be far more attached in return than he’d initially planned, and that his own desires were not entirely platonic. It mattered little. Garak is nothing if not practiced at accepting reality and quashing wishes for what he can’t have. Anything beyond friendship wouldn’t have been sensible on the station, so what he might have liked was entirely irrelevant, and even recently he’d seen no indication Julian wanted to change the nature of their relationship. Therefore, he attempted to content himself with making a life on Vadari VII which included Julian as a dear friend, and thought himself fortunate to have that much.

And then, after Garak had accepted that the change in their situations hadn’t inspired Julian to realize they would make excellent life partners, he arrived home one evening to a recreation of the most romantic scene Cardassian literature produced in the last half-century.

That was three weeks ago. Garak is still getting used to his pleasant new reality where generous, brilliant, captivating Julian Bashir wants to make a life with him. Where Garak can touch whenever he wants and make long-term plans based on a shared future.

There are days where Garak scarcely knows who he is or will be. He’s building a truth out of the old ‘simple tailor’ lie, and such a process is not without difficulty. Some days he seethes at the loss of what could have been. Others, he is grateful to be alive and for a chance to create a life for himself far beyond the reach of Tain’s shadow, to enjoy the simple pleasures Tain scorned. Often he feels both at the same time.

Now, knowing that whatever else he is, he is Julian’s, Garak finds the future much less bleak.

Julian claimed not much would change besides the addition of sex. In some respects that is true. In others, however, a great deal is now different, and Garak relishes it all. He’s even applying himself to becoming a better kisser, after Julian’s charmingly careful admission that Garak has room to improve.

At present Garak is tending to his herb plants before going home for the evening. While weeding he considers new ways to give himself an advantage at laser tag, with a strong preference for those Julian won’t suspect.

It is one of the delightful aspects of Julian than he accepts all of Garak – though Garak himself is not entirely sure how.

Regardless, he continues to be in an exceptionally good mood, and thus Sorvek finds him weeding the teska plants quite happily. He’s just decided to share a series of children’s novels of which he had been very fond in his youth, books he’d always hesitated to give Julian because they provide considerable insight into young Elim Garak.

“Good evening,” says Sorvek.

“Good evening. I see your nizhil has grown at least ten centimeters.”

Sorvek is visibly pleased. He is an unconventional Vulcan, as all the members of his species on Vadari VII are. They make room for some small measure of emotional amidst their logic.

Though Sorvek hasn’t said as much, Garak believes his acceptance of emotion is a direct result of his wife and only child, both Starfleet officers, dying during the Dominion War. The grief made it impossible to suppress all emotion, or so Garak’s theory holds. He has not been so rude as to ask for confirmation.

“On Vulcan nizhil grows only on riverbanks. I did not know if it would thrive in this climate.”

“Evidently it does.” The same can be said of Garak’s teska, though his madabron died months ago. Cardassian herbs were never a sure prospect in this environment.

“Indeed.” Sorvek examines his plants with the faintest trace of a smile. “I have never seen it grow so rapidly.”

Teska weeded, Garak checks his zucchini. The plants continue to produce exceptionally well. He understands why the vegetable was recommended to him, as it seems impossible to fail at growing zucchini. Julian is thoroughly tired of it, and Garak finds it dreadfully bland, so he plans to try something else next year.

Perhaps Kara Whitsell will have use for some of his excess zucchini. Failing that, she might at least offer suggestions on how to utilize it more creatively than they heretofore have.

Meanwhile, Sorvek inspects his nizhil. “The local insects do not favor nizhil.”

Probably because it’s vile, Garak thinks. He and Sorvek exchanged produce samples two weeks ago, and the nizhil berries went into the disposal unit. Julian emphatically declared them one of the worst foods he’s ever tasted.

“How fortunate for you,” Garak says neutrally. He may not like nizhil, but he does enjoy conversing with Sorvek, and would rather not insult the man’s fruit if it can be avoided.

It is slightly harder than normal to breathe. Garak attributes this to the atmosphere – he is exposed to new pollen on a regular basis in this community garden – and moves on to his meroku peppers. The Betazoid staple is quite good, when seasoned appropriately. He’s drying a large stash of herbs to keep himself in familiar Cardassian flavors. If possible, he will maintain a few plants in the apartment through the winter.

Winter, at least, is some way off. It’s a gloriously warm late summer day and Garak would be content if only he could inhale properly.

“Are you in distress?” asks Sorvek. Garak is about to lie when the Vulcan continues, “Your breathing sounds labored.”

Seeing no point in such a blatant falsehood, and unable to fool Vulcan auditory prowess, he settles for minimization. “I’m sure it’s temporary.”

Sorvek does not look convinced. A minute later, when Garak’s breathing has taken on a notable wheeze, he remarks, “It would be prudent to seek medical attention.”

Garak nods his agreement. If nothing else, further delay is likely to earn him a lecture on taking better care of himself.

“Should I call for medical transport?”

“No. I will see myself to the hospital.” He wants to ensure he meets Julian, not some other doctor without the faintest knowledge of Cardassian physiology.

“I will accompany you,” declares Sorvek, and Garak decides not to waste precious energy arguing.

The community garden is near the transit line which heads directly into the center of town and thus the hospital. Garak has never found the walk to be arduous before. In fact he often walks the whole way from the apartment to enjoy the warm sun. Now, however, he is grateful to reach the transit stop and even more grateful the automated stairs weren’t a casualty of the Breen attack.

It’s a mere four-minute journey, since no one gets on at the intervening stop. Sorvek watches with increasing concern (moderately well-veiled, but present nevertheless) as Garak focuses on inhaling. It’s never been such a challenge before.

Traversing the twenty meters from the transit stop to the hospital takes longer than he cares to admit. Sorvek holds the door open, and Garak stops pretending he can stay on his feet much longer.

He walks to the desk sitting under a large sign proclaiming it to be ‘Intake.’ By the time he reaches it, the effort of walking has him gasping loudly. “I need to see Dr. Bashir, please.”

There are two people sitting at the desk, both humans. The man answers. “You don’t get to request a doctor in Emergency.”

It always worked in the station’s infirmary.

“Your breathing sounds labored. Let’s get you back here.”

“I’m aware, and I would appreciate you seeing if Dr. Bashir is available.”

Unless Garak is mistaken, Julian is investigating some biomedical process or another right now. He mentioned an intention to stay an hour late in order to research, which is common practice for him. Undoubtedly he will set aside the project to ensure Garak continues to breathe.

“I’m sorry, but Dr. Bashir isn’t here right now.” The woman stands and takes out a medical tricorder, making to scan Garak.

He has neither the patience or lung capacity to deal with this. “Of course.” As deep a breath as he can manage, which isn’t much, and then he inquires, “In that case, who among the staff has experience with Cardassian physiology?”

The two humans look at each other.

“Dr. Bashir, please.” The last word comes out as a wheeze, which wasn’t intentional but makes his point effectively.

The woman sighs. The man hits something on his computer. “Dr. Bashir?”

“Yes?”

“You have a patient in Emergency requesting you personally. Since you’re the only one familiar with Cardassian…”

Julian cuts him off. “I’ll be right there.”

Garak sits and attempts to inhale on a regular basis, a progressively more difficult task. He starts to wonder if he ought to have allowed Sorvek to request emergency medical transport.

Two painful minutes later, Julian bursts through a door, tricorder at the ready.

“What’s the matter? You’re having trouble breathing, aren’t you?” He frowns at the tricorder. “Your airways are constricting. I want to get you back on a bed.”

Garak stands while Julian produces a wheelchair from just behind the door, asking, “Did you walk here?”

“I took the transit line for most of the journey.” It takes great effort to get the sentence out, and Garak resolves to keep his words to a minimum. “Thank you, Sorvek.”

Sorvek nods. “I trust you will soon return to good health.” Evidently satisfied that Garak is in capable hands, Sorvek then takes his leave.

“I’d have preferred you call for medical transport,” says Julian, “but at least you didn’t try to walk the whole way. The constriction is getting worse.”

“I’ve… noticed.” Garak would not suffer the indignity of the wheelchair, except he isn’t sure he could make it very far on his own and deems falling even worse than the chair. He lets Julian push him into the depths of the hospital and get to work.

“This will help,” Julian says, injecting him with a hypospray. It offers no immediate relief, and Garak thinks it is good he didn’t delay visiting the hospital any longer.

With help, he gets on the biobed, panting and gasping for air. Julian calls a nurse over and requests something unfamiliar to Garak, who is at any rate busy focusing on not losing consciousness. It feels as though he has a herd of riding hounds piled atop of his chest.

“The hypo is preventing further swelling. This,” Julian says when the nurse hands him a small device, “is going to help reduce the existing constriction.” He fits the device over Garak’s nose. “Inhale as deeply as you can.”

It’s a feeble effort, but after five repetitions, Julian is satisfied. “Give it a minute to work.”

Slowly, Garak finds breathing becomes, if not easy, less laborious than it had been. Instead of a herd of riding hounds, it only seems as though he has one or two using him as a bed.

“Good,” says Julian. “That’s exactly what I want to see. Better?”

“Yes.” The word still comes out with a slight pant.

“It’ll take another few minutes to stabilize you, and I want to keep an eye out for recurrence. In the meantime, we have to figure out what caused this. Have you been exposed to anything new today?”

“I tried marshberries.” The fruit is native to Vadari VII, and despite the uninspired name is agreeable.

Julian picks up a new device. “Microtransporter. I’m going to take a few lung cells to test.”

“Try not to take any… of the crucial ones.” Quite frankly, Garak isn’t sure he has many to spare at the moment.

“You won’t even miss them. There. Now lie back and rest. I’ll just be over here running tests.”

Garak never used to be accustomed to trusting anyone with his wellbeing. He has no concerns about placing himself in Julian’s care, so he watches Julian at work and enjoys the increased air flow he’s getting.

* * *

The marshberries were indeed the culprit. Garak is already careful not to ingest dairy, as he prefers to avoid sharp, relentless stomach cramps whenever possible. Now he adds marshberries to his dietary restriction.

Julian won’t let him leave the hospital for two hours. “We have to be certain you won’t suffer a recurrence when the maditrozone wears off,” he says, and that is that.

It could be worse. At least the emergency room is equipped with privacy screens. Moreover, Garak has his own extremely attentive doctor who is distracting him from his discomfort by inventing games.

“You really expect me to believe this has a long and venerable history?” Garak asks.

“It’s been around for hundreds of years.”

“That would account for the inefficient method of execution.”

Julian doesn’t take that particular conversational bait. “I bet we’re the first people to play Cardassi hangman, though.”

“I’m sure we are.”

The game tends towards the inane, but at present Garak has nothing better to do, and it’s preferable to sitting here focusing on the residual tightness in his chest and nausea which refuses to go away.

“Just think, it’ll help my spelling,” adds Julian, handing over a padd and stylus.

With his memory, spelling isn’t a problem. Handwriting and pronunciation do not come as easily to him, and one of these days Garak is going to have to admit that for years now he’s been subtly altering the pronunciation of ‘Shoggoth’ for Julian’s convenience. There’s a slight click in the middle, characteristic of southern archipelago names, which Julian is liable to butcher completely. The component sounds of Standard and Cardassi are similar, but not identical. 

That, however, is a problem for another day. “Perhaps you can adapt a game to improve your handwriting,” Garak says.

“I’ll leave that one to you. Give me a category for the word you’re using.”

“Very well. Nouns.” Cardassi has three classes of words which collectively equal Standard nouns, but he hasn’t gotten that far in Julian’s grammar lessons yet.

“That’s an extremely broad category,” quibbles Julian.

“Then I suggest you be more specific next time.” He writes out lines for the letters as Julian demonstrated, still not convinced this game was ever intended for adults. “Choose your first letter.”

“Kud.”

A common letter, but Garak deliberately selected a word without it. He draws a circle. Julian frowns.

After six hanged men (why they must be hanged and not hung, Julian cannot say but insists this is the case; Standard is odd sometimes) and five rescued from the brink of death, Julian finally decrees Garak may leave the hospital.

The game is peculiar and juvenile, yes. It is also part of Julian’s effort to learn Cardassi simply because it will please Garak to speak his mother tongue. Garak, unused to anyone being so invested in his personal happiness, finds this immensely delightful.

Perhaps even more surprisingly, Garak feels the same way. There is very little he would not do for Julian.

“Alright.” Julian sets down his tricorder, evidently satisfied. “Normally overnight observation is in order after a reaction of that severity. However, I happen to know you live with a qualified doctor, so I’m releasing you.”

“Special treatment? I’m flattered.”

“You need sleep and I know you won’t get any here without a sedative which you will refuse on general principle. I’d prefer not to add to the drugs already in your body in any case.”

“I thought the drugs wore off.”

“That was the maditrozone you inhaled. The hypo is still active. There is a condition.”

“I don’t like conditions.”

Julian won’t debate about medical matters. “You will tell me immediately if you feel any recurrence of anaphylaxis, waking me up if necessary.”

Garak doubts Julian will get much sleep, but nods.

“I’m serious. This had the potential to be fatal.”

It certainly felt that way. “I agree to your condition,” says Garak, and since he is very pleased to be alive, he even means it.

“Good. Then let me collect a few hypos just in case, and we can go home.”

Garak is tired, but not so exhausted he will consent to the wheelchair again. He makes it home by his own feet (and the transit line), showers, and is soon comfortably ensconced in bed with Julian’s arm thrown around him.

“I switched days off with Dr. Traala, so I’ll be home with you tomorrow. No, I’m not overreacting, Elim,” Julian adds, anticipating Garak’s next statement. “There’s no precedent for this, which means we can’t be too careful. You could’ve died or suffered irreparable brain damage from oxygen deprivation. We’re not taking chances. I won’t lose you.”

The prospect of life without Julian is horrifying enough for Garak to understand why Julian wants to be nearby. “I’m not so easily killed,” he says.

“I’m going to make you hypos to keep nearby. Small ones you can put in your pocket in case you have another anaphylactic reaction.”

Garak isn’t yet sure whether this is an overreaction or not. He likes to think it is, but considering how he’d been slowly suffocating, perhaps not.

He falls asleep with Julian’s arm still wrapped around him.

* * *

In the morning he is still not recovered to his usual energy level, and his entire torso remains sore, but he breathes easily and isn’t remotely nauseous, so overall he’s much improved.

Following breakfast and another tricorder scan, Julian settles next to him on the couch. Garak never thought he would have this. Not with anyone, a belief Tain cultivated assiduously, and certainly not with Julian.

“You should keep exertions to a minimum today,” Julian says.

Garak already intended to. Disinclined to admit it, he instead remarks, “A pity. I do so enjoy exerting myself with you.”

“It’s mutual, but that has to wait.”

“Is reading acceptable?” he asks, picking up a book and not willing to put it down even if Julian would rather he did.

“Yes. What is that?”

“You tell me.”

Julian examines the cover. It is another of Garak’s replica first editions, which he retrieved from his old quarters on the station before getting on a transport to Vadari VII simply because this is where Julian was going. Julian alone made this the most appealing option in the Federation.

“Karonet,” says Julian after a moment’s consideration. “Marin’s _Valley of Karonet _duology, then?”

“This is volume one.”

“Wait a minute.”

“Yes?”

Julian’s face takes on the particular expression which means he is rapidly considering old interactions in a new light. Garak tremendously enjoys provoking it. “_The Never Ending Sacrifice _isn’t really your favorite book,” he concludes.

Astute of him. “Oh? Why do you say that?”

“No one thing. You waited longer to introduce me to _Valley of Karonet_, ostensibly because you thought I needed to read other books first to appreciate it, but you were guarding something meaningful to you. You were unusually subdued when we discussed volume two, and now I discover you re-read it more often than _The Never Ending Sacrifice._”

“Very good, my dear.”

“And the trick of it is, you didn’t even technically lie.”

Garak is impressed that Julian appreciates this. He said _The Never Ending Sacrifice _is the finest Cardassian novel ever written. It is. He simply enjoys reading _Valley of Karonet_ more and chose not to say so.

“Now I have to figure out why,” says Julian.

“I look forward to your theories.”

Yesterday’s brush with death notwithstanding, Garak remains in an exceptionally good mood. He finds it impossible to be anything else right now, with Julian as his lifemate.

Julian gives back the book and picks up his padd. He seems unable to find a position which suits. He keeps shifting around. Garak observes for a moment and thinks Julian might need to stretch his long legs, but wants the closeness of sharing the couch.

There is a simple solution to the problem. Garak sets his book down, grabs Julian’s feet, and places them on his lap. “Is that better?”

“Yes, actually. You don’t mind?”

Far from minding, Garak enjoys the warm weight and gentle intimacy of it. “Not in the least.”

Happier than he thought possible and thereby disinclined to frighten Julian more than strictly necessary, Garak agrees to keep one of the slender hypos nearby for the immediate future. He has a great deal worth living for.


End file.
